


The "Let's Bang" Cake

by antpower



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1796371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antpower/pseuds/antpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>90% porn, 10% cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The "Let's Bang" Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Halesanchor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halesanchor/gifts).



> This is for [Sierra](http://hobrienwolf.tumblr.com) because she is awesome.

The thing is, Stiles wants Derek. Wants him bad. He spends most of his time thinking about it, lately. And he knows Derek wants him too. They haven’t exactly talked about it, but they’ve been doing this back-and-forth thing for long enough now that Stiles can read Derek, knows what it means when Derek zones out staring at his mouth, when his hand lingers on Stiles’ arm. Plus, Scott told him that Derek “smells like he’s got the biggest boner for you, man. Like, all the time. Can’t you just bang him or something and get it over with, I can’t even be in the same room with you two anymore.”

He knows that the reason Derek hasn’t said anything is because he’s got all his Dereky _stuff_ , and Stiles has his own Stilesy stuff, but he thinks that maybe if they just bang, that would be half the stuff dealt with. So Stiles decides to fix it. With cake. And hopefully post-cake banging, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to get RSI otherwise.

He waits for a day he knows he’ll have the house to himself, goes out to buy everything he needs and texts Derek to see if he’s busy later. He knows Derek is definitely not busy later, he’s got wolfy business with Scott all afternoon, but then he’ll probably just sit around the loft, staring out rainy windows or drinking protein shakes, or whatever the hell it is Derek does when he’s alone.

Stiles figures he’s probably got until dinnertime, so he straps on his “kiss the cook” apron and gets baking. It’s a fairly straightforward recipe and he gets lost in the careful routine of it. He likes cooking, likes the precision of it, the science. He’s just finished mixing the batter when he hears a noise behind him. He spins around, spatula held out like a weapon, splattering cake batter in an arc through the air. 

Derek’s leaning in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and eyebrows raised. Stiles spreads out his arms and backs up against the bench, trying to hide the evidence of the “let’s bang” cake behind him.

“I thought you had wolfy business,” Stiles says, reaching behind his back to try and cover up all the ingredients, at least push them into a smaller surface space for him to stand in front of. “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

Derek’s eyes flicker up and down Stiles’ body, and his lips twitch up into the tiniest smirk, and that’s _exactly_ the kind of thing Stiles means, with the looks and the sex eyes and everything.

“Kiss the cook?” Derek asks, nodding toward Stiles’ apron.

Stiles returns Derek’s smirk and raises him an eyebrow waggle. “I’m the cook.”

Derek pushes off from the doorway and stalks toward Stiles. Slowly. Without breaking eye contact. Stiles can feel himself getting hard just with the way Derek’s hips move as he walks and he’s not sure he’s ready for this. Except that he totally, _totally_ is.

Derek stops just in front of Stiles. Close, but not close enough.

“What are you cooking?” Derek cranes his neck to try to see the bench behind Stiles. 

Stiles shuffles around so Derek can’t see, and to move a little closer to the warm, comforting heat of him. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

Derek sniffs the air, which Stiles thinks is cheating, then he darts around Stiles with his stupid werewolf speed, and dips a finger in the mixing bowl, which is definitely cheating.

“No way, big guy,” Stiles says, wrapping his hands around Derek’s forearm and pulling to keep Derek from tasting the cake batter, but only managing to pull himself closer to Derek. The batter drips down Derek’s finger in a way that looks _filthy_. “Keep your paws out of my cake.”

Stiles is no match for Derek’s strength, so he does the only thing he can think of and leans forward to take Derek’s finger in his mouth. He sucks the batter off Derek’s finger, swirling his tongue around to make sure he’s got it all. He tightens his grip on Derek’s arm and sucks the finger in deeper, chasing the sweetness of the cake where it dripped the whole way down.

Stiles glances up at Derek’s face. Derek’s biting hard on his bottom lip, staring at Stiles’ mouth, his pupils blown. It’s escalated quickly, Stiles thinks, the cake isn’t even in the oven and they’re already at finger sucking. He’s the best cook ever.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Stiles,” Derek whispers.

Stiles smiles around Derek’s finger and sucks even harder, bobbing his head and curling his tongue to see how much of the finger he can envelop.

Derek curls his free hand in Stiles’ hair and pulls his head back. Stiles’ mouth gapes open and Derek drags his finger out, across Stiles’ bottom lip, making it wet. Stiles groans, tries to chase Derek’s finger with his tongue, but Derek pulls it away. He reaches behind Stiles, and Stiles wonders vaguely what he’s doing for a moment, but then Derek’s hand is back, three fingers coated in the batter now. Derek pulls Stiles’ head back even further and holds his hand above him, letting the batter drizzle across Stiles’ mouth. It drips onto his tongue, over his lips, down his chin, warm splashes over his skin, and he licks out at it, his tongue writhing out toward the taste, toward Derek. He’s so fucking hard and Derek is barely touching him, has him pinned there with just one hand. Stiles’ hips twitch in frustration but Derek only tightens his grip in Stiles’ hair.

“You don’t have any idea,” Derek says quietly, sounding dazed. “That fucking _mouth_.”

Derek smears the cake batter across Stiles’ mouth, fingers pushing at Stiles’ lips, tugging at them, as Stiles licks at the fingers messily, laps at the webbing between them, sucks at them and tries to draw them back into his mouth. He wants them to fill him up, wants Derek to fill him up, and he lets out a helpless, choked off sound at the thought.

Derek thrusts three fingers into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles sucks on them hungrily, his tongue pushing hard up against them as he tries to get through the sweetness of the batter to the taste of Derek’s skin. Derek pulls Stiles’ head forward as he pumps his fingers in and out, fucking Stiles’ mouth with his hand. Stiles hooks his leg around Derek’s thigh, trying to pull him closer, but Derek pulls back, tightens his grip in Stiles’ hair. 

He stares at Stiles’ face, at the mess he’s made of it, and he looks a little lost, bewildered. Stiles is so fucking turned on, he can’t have Derek overthinking this now, so he snakes a hand behind himself and coats it in the cake batter, then wipes it down Derek’s front before he can react, from his neck to halfway down his chest. He leaves his hand there, feeling Derek’s muscles flex underneath it.

“Oh no, look at what I’ve done,” Stiles says. His head is bowed and he looks up at Derek through his lashes. “Your t-shirt is completely ruined, you’ll have to take it off.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he’s got that tiny smirk again, and he leans back to pull his t-shirt over his head. Stiles is ready and swipes another handful of batter across Derek’s naked chest as he drops the t-shirt behind him.

Stiles wastes no time getting his mouth back on Derek’s skin. He’s firm and warm under Stiles’ tongue and Stiles savors him, the little tremors of his muscles as Stiles licks at him, bites at him. 

Derek grabs Stiles by the hips and pulls their bodies together, and it’s fucking amazing, feeling Derek’s hard cock grinding against his own, knowing Derek’s getting off on this as much as Stiles is, but it’s not enough.

“You should take off your pants,” Stiles says against Derek’s collarbone. “Before they get all dirty too.”

He feels Derek huff out a laugh and trails his hands down, over Derek’s stomach, lets them linger there, running patterns over Derek’s skin, enjoying the way the muscles jump under his touch, before he starts working at Derek’s belt.

“You’re still fully dressed,” Derek says, sounding annoyed. He tugs at the strings on Stiles’ apron and Stiles doesn’t really want to move away from Derek, but steps back to take the apron off. He figures he may as well get rid of the rest of his clothes while he’s at it, and by the time he’s tugged off all his clothes, he looks up to find Derek standing naked in front of him.

He’s always known Derek would be beautiful, but knowing it and seeing it are completely different. He can barely breathe for a moment, looking at Derek’s long, flushed cock and knowing it’s hard for _him_. His own dick pulses in response, but it’s not his main concern for the moment, he needs to touch Derek’s dick, wants it in every way he can possibly take it.

He drops to his knees in front of Derek, nuzzles into Derek’s stomach and just breathes on the Derek’s cock, watching the way it twitches. He wants to swallow it down, but they’ve got a theme going on here, so he reaches up for the cake bowl. He’s still watching Derek, eyes flickering up to his face and then back down to his dick, not really paying attention as he knocks the bowl and the cake batter spills all down the cupboard and onto the floor. He doesn’t even care, just runs his hand through it, so turned on that even the smooth texture of the batter is doing it for him. 

He brings his hand up to Derek’s cock, coating it in the batter, cool against Derek’s hot skin. He looks up at Derek as he trails his fingers over Derek’s dick, through the batter. He knows he can’t let Derek think about this too much, can’t let him second guess what they’re doing when they both want it so much, when they both need it. He has to take control of the situation, has to let Derek know he has control, and his dick gets even harder at the thought.

“You’re going to fuck my mouth,” Stiles says, running his thumb under the head of Derek’s dick. “You’re going to shove your dick so far down my throat I gag on it, but you’re going to hold my head so I can’t pull away.” He pulls Derek’s foreskin down the length of his cock, over the end, and traces his thumb around the puckered skin, the looks back up to Derek. “Okay?”

Derek gives him a short nod, and Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek’s face as he leans in and slips his tongue between Derek’s foreskin and the underside of his cock. Derek draws in a shaky breath as Stiles moves his tongue, taking in the texture of Derek’s skin, the taste of the cake mixing with Derek’s pre-cum to become something salty-sweet that Stiles thinks he could get addicted to. He sucks on the tip of Derek’s dick as he swirls his tongue, and pulls back just as Derek starts to jerk forward. He lets go of Derek’s dick, letting it rest lightly on his tongue as he slides his sticky hands up to Derek’s hipbones. 

Derek’s hands hover over his head and he gives a small nod, and Derek buries his hands in Stiles’ hair. Derek holds Stiles’ head steady as he pushes into Stiles’ mouth. His cock is thick and Stiles’ mouth stretches wide around it. It’s overwhelming for a moment, the feeling of Derek sliding into his mouth, filling it, hitting the back of his throat. He focuses on breathing through his nose, keeps his eyes fixed on Derek’s face. His throat clenches around Derek’s dick and Derek lets out a soft little grunt, and his hips stutter, a sharp little in-out that has Stiles flushing hot all over. He sucks his cheeks in tight and rubs his tongue up against Derek’s cock, making his mouth as tight and wet as he can for Derek to fuck into. Derek’s fingers tighten in his hair, pulling as he thrusts in and out of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles’ fingers dig into Derek’s hips as he holds on for balance, wanting to take as much as he can, wanting to feel Derek’s hot come spurt down his throat, over his face. Stiles groans around Derek’s dick, and Derek stills abruptly, slowly drawing out of Stiles’ mouth.

“I want…” Derek clears his throat, looking down at Stiles with wide eyes. He loosens his grip on Stiles’ hair, runs his fingers through it lightly.

“You want to fuck me?” Stiles clutches at Derek’s hips even more tightly. He could almost come at the thought, he’s so far gone.

Derek lowers himself down so they’re on eye level with one another. His eyes roam over Stiles’ face as if they’re searching for something.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, bringing up his hands to cradle Derek’s face. He’d forgotten for a moment that this was more than just fucking, it wasn’t just some guy he’d picked up, that this was _Derek_ and there were actual emotions involved. His brushes a soft kiss to Derek’s mouth. “That’s what I want too.”

Derek kisses him properly then, all tongues and teeth and want and _need_. He lays Stiles out on his back, the tile cold against his flushed skin, and mouths at a spot on Stiles’ jaw.

“You’ve got this stuff everywhere,” he says, licking a line up Stiles’ cheek where the cake batter has gone dry and tacky. He kisses down Stiles’ body, stopping to suck at sticky places where the cake mix has splattered. Stiles knows he’ll be covered in marks, purple bite-shaped proofs of what they’ve done. He tries to thrust up against Derek, get some friction against his neglected dick, but Derek moves away, trailing his mouth further downward. Stiles has lost control of the situation, has given it up to Derek without a thought.

Derek splays Stiles’ legs wide open and moves back. He lifts Stiles ass up and holds his cheeks open with his thumbs. Stiles hooks his legs over Derek’s shoulders, bringing Derek’s face in close to his ass. He’s never felt as exposed as he does now, with Derek watching him, watching his tiny hip thrusts as he tries to fuck the air, his hole clenched in anticipation.

“I’ve imagined you like this,” Derek says in a low voice. His hands knead Stiles’ ass, stretching it open and then releasing, over and over, so close to where Stiles wants them but never quite touching. “Imagined you spread out for me, panting and needy, your cock so hard it’s dripping and your tight little hole quivering for me.”

“ _Fuck_ , Derek, just touch me.”

“Sssh,” he says, circling his thumbs closer and closer to Stiles’ hole.

Stiles lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. Derek pulls his cheeks so far apart, Stiles can feel his hole stretching open, on display. Derek’s thumbs edge even closer, his rim clenching and unclenching as if trying to draw Derek in. Stiles wants to buck up into Derek’s touch, but he holds him firmly in place. Derek blows a cool breath over him, an almost-touch where he needs it most.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles whines. “ _Please_.”

Derek flicks his tongue around Stiles’ rim lightly and it’s so good but still not enough. Stiles strains up toward Derek’s mouth, his feet digging into Derek’s back, but Derek holds him steady. And then his tongue is right there, painting tiny circles around Stiles’ rim, teasing little touches that make Stiles want to cry with how good they feel. It’s driving Stiles crazy, he’s sweating, arching his back off the floor and making these little whining noises he never knew he was capable of. And then Derek starts rimming him for real, he presses his hot, wet mouth up against Stiles’ hole and fucks into him with his tongue in hard, sharp bursts. Derek props himself up on an elbow, holding Stiles up with one arm, and Stiles reaches down to hold himself open for Derek as Derek slides a finger into Stiles beside his tongue. Stiles bucks up into it, his fingernails digging into his ass cheeks as he tries to push Derek deeper inside him. His entrance is wet from Derek’s mouth but his hole is too dry for Derek to push in far. He groans when Derek pulls out of him and lowers him back to the ground.

“Oil,” Stiles says, “on the bench.”

Derek rakes his eyes over Stiles, from his messed up hair and his swollen lips, down the bite marks on his chest, over his swollen, aching cock, to where Stiles is holding his cheeks open, one finger straying down to circle his rim while he waits.

“Keep your hands where they are,” Derek says, and Stiles’ dick twitches at the authority in his voice.

“Hurry the fuck up then.”

Derek sits up on his knees, keeping his eyes on where Stiles’ finger dips into his hole and back out to circle his rim again, as he reaches around for the bottle of oil.

“You really want this.” Derek’s voice is full of wonder as he tries to open the oil bottle without looking away from Stiles.

“Yeah, Derek.” He pushes back in to the first knuckle, holds it there and clenches around it. “For fucking ages, are you going to keep me waiting even longer? We can do the big emotional reveal after you fuck me.”

He doesn’t think Derek’s even listening to him. Derek moves back between Stiles’ legs. He tips the oil into his hand and it spills over, trickling over Stiles’ balls. Stiles wets his finger with it, rubs it down over his perineum and around his hole. It feels even better with the slickness of the oil and he teases himself with it, likes the way Derek can’t stop watching, so transfixed he’s getting the oil everywhere.

“You’ve done this before,” Derek says, pushing Stiles’ thighs even wider apart. “Touched yourself like this and thought about me.”

“I think about you,” Stiles says, pushing his finger back in with short, shallow thrusts. “All the time.”

Derek inhales a sharp breath and takes Stiles by the wrist, pulling his hand away and back to his ass cheek. He rubs at Stiles’ hole with his slicked up fingers, back and forth, then he slips the first one inside.

“Tell me about it,” he says, as he works the first finger in, deeper and deeper.

Stiles pushes against him, bracing his feet on the floor and raising his hips into Derek’s touch. “I used to think about you in my room, hiding in the shadows, watching me fuck myself on my fingers,” he says, as Derek pushes in a second finger. He loses the thread of what he’s saying as Derek gets his fingers in all the way, crooks them and brushes his prostate. “ _Fuck_. Thought about fucking you in my jeep. You spreading me over the hood of your Camaro, when you still had it.”

Derek scissors his fingers, pushes them in and out, so slowly, too slowly. He adds another. His eyes are riveted on Stiles’ ass, on the way his fingers are moving in and out of Stiles’ body, and it’s so slow, so not enough. Stiles needs to be filled up by Derek, needs to be fucked, and he doesn’t know what to say, what to do, for it to happen.

“Thought about you holding me down on the stairs in your loft and taking me hard. Thought about you at the Jungle, at the Sheriff’s station, the hospital, fucking everywhere, Derek. Every way. Come _on_ , just fuck me.”

Derek’s eyes snap up to Stiles’ face and he watches carefully as he pulls his fingers out of Stiles, as he grabs the oil and coats his dick in it.

“Fucking _finally_ ,” Stiles says, but his voice is shaky.

Stiles hooks his legs over Derek’s shoulders again as Derek lowers his body down over Stiles’. Stiles guides Derek’s cock to his ass and rests the tip over his entrance. It suddenly feels overly real and Stiles’ breath shudders. Derek rests his hand on the side of Stiles’ face, thumb stroking his cheek. Stiles slides a hand around the back of Derek’s neck, fingers tangling in the hair there. Stiles has been fucked before, and he’s fucked guys, girls too, but he’s never done this, this staring into someone’s eyes, full of feelings thing. It’s a little bit scary, but he trusts Derek, and he knows that Derek trusts him, they wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.

“Me too,” Derek says softly as he starts to push in. “I’ve wanted you too, for a long time.”

Derek pushes past his rim and Stiles’ breath hitches. Derek stares at him, wide-eyed, worried, but Stiles shakes his head, angles his hips upward to take Derek in deeper. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s full, so full of Derek, and it’s still not enough. He wants to feel Derek everywhere, all through him, wants to be so thoroughly fucked by Derek that he’s wrecked for anyone else.

“Come on, Derek,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s lips. He locks his ankles behind Derek’s back and rolls his hips up. “Fuck me hard. _Claim me_.”

Derek’s hips thrust forward and he’s suddenly balls deep in Stiles. He rests his forehead against Stiles’, panting.

“Fuck, Stiles. I’m not going to last.”

“Me neither.” He kisses the side of Derek’s mouth and clenches around him, grinding his hips in tight circles that leave Derek shaking. “Fuck, Derek you feel so good inside me.”

Derek kisses him, sloppy, open-mouthed, and starts thrusting in and out of Stiles; long, slow thrusts that brush against Stiles’ prostate and send hot sparks all through him. His cock brushes against Derek’s stomach on each thrust and he’s so full of Derek, so completely permeated by him it’s overwhelming. Derek is everything, he’s everywhere. The thrusts speed up, Derek circling his hips each time to hit just the right spot, and he stares down at Stiles with this _look_ on his face, as if Stiles were everything good in the world, and it’s just too much. It builds up and up inside of Stiles until he’s sure he’s never going to come, he’s going to die of it, he’s going to be hanging on the edge, this unbearable sweetness flooding through him until he can almost taste it. 

Then Derek chokes out his name, a bitten off cry that’s everything that’s ever been unsaid between them, and Stiles is coming in a hot rush, all over his stomach, feeling Derek pulse inside him. It’s slow and sweet and warm, and Derek holds him as they both come down.

Derek strokes the sweaty hair out of his face and they stare at each other in a way that he’d probably find sickening if it were anyone else. As the afterglow fades, he starts to realize that they’re sprawled out on the kitchen floor, covered in cake batter and jizz. He props himself up on his elbows and looks around.

“Fuck,” he says. 

There is cake batter and oil literally _everywhere_ , all over their floor, the cupboards, their clothes. He’s pretty sure he has the imprints of the kitchen tiles permanently embedded in his back, and he’s got so many hickeys he looks like some sort of plague victim.

He looks down at Derek, who’s smiling up at him, a genuine smile, and he thinks it was probably worth it.

“We made a mess,” he says.

“I don’t even like cake,” Derek says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek is a jerk and he doesn’t know why he likes him so much. He climbs on top of him and smears a mix of cake and oil and jizz across his skin, Derek doesn’t seem to mind, just folds his hands behind his head and watches.

“It was a ‘let’s bang’ cake,” Stiles tells him, writing D heart S in the mess.

“It worked,” Derek says, wiping Stiles’ love message off his belly.

“I’m not baking for you every time we have sex,” Stiles says, because it’s important to be up front about these things from the start.

“You didn’t bake for me this time.”

Which is a fair point, but still uncalled for, Stiles thinks, after life-changing orgasms.

“Whatever,” says Stiles. “But I’m not having sex with you until the kitchen’s clean.”

Which is a lie and they both know it.

The kitchen does get cleaned. Eventually.


End file.
